Hello
by SwedenB.ox
Summary: Romano has always been in the lives of many, yet he goes by unnoticed. One day he loses himself and becomes a living mannequin. It is this that triggers the many realizations of the Nations, and they all work out the solution to a problem that no one bothered to try: Romano has never craved for attention, all he wanted was recognition, gratitude and praise.
1. Chapter 1

**Based on a prompt that hit me while I was sleeping. I don't own Hetalia.**

_You were sitting beside me on a park bench. The sky was bright and blue today. The grass was green and shiny with youth from the new spring, and the air was cool and fresh and young. Yet, you do not look around or let the wind flutter about your eyelashes. You were facing your lap, your dark hair falling in places they usually did not fall in, your hands flipped up on the seat of the bench loosely like a mannequin. I could not see your eyes. You were very quiet. You weren't complaining or swearing or randomly making little grunts. You worry me. I slide my hand gently to rest above yours. I curled my fingers around the grooves in between your slightly tanned fingers. I gave a small squeeze._

_You didn't squeeze back._

~*Feliciano*~

I am standing outside the school we used to attend. I am gazing into the green wired fence at the little children running about playfully in the basketball court, screaming and shouting. My hands are lightly gripping the green plants that crawl about the stone wall beneath the fence. I am thinking of your loud voice at that time, sharp and loud, as you run across the hard and rough ground. Are you still able to remember this voice? Your age when you were so loud? When you would try not to cry in school?

That day, you've had a bad morning. You've had trouble waking up because you had to do homework late into the night, and now you have black bags under your eyes. Have you been staying up late all the time? I don't know. At school, your Chorea suddenly acted up and the whole class laughed at you. When the attack stopped, you were in tears.

During recess, our classmates wouldn't stop teasing you. You had prayed hard to God every night that the attacks wouldn't happen while in class, yet today it acted up during Math.

During recess, your eyes were red and puffy and your cheeks were a slight pink. Your shoulders were pushed up to your cheeks. I wanted so badly to come and comfort you, but my friends were pulling at my sleeves. There's always the time at home, I thought, and I turned away from you.

We were 7 then.

* * *

A child ran across the basketball court. He tripped over his shoelaces and he fell. He stayed on the ground for a while, before he wiped his eyes, silently sniffled, and stood up again to play.

***~XxXXxX~***

I do not know what caused you to be like this. You wouldn't respond to us, you wouldn't eat, unless you felt like it. You aren't noisy anymore. You wouldn't randomly crash into a room. It just seems so strange without your noise.

The house feels empty somehow without you. The house does not have the smell of tomatoes. The house does not have the sunshine that big brother Spain brings with him. It is only in the sky, but it is not in the house.

I remember you in an old brown tunic and beige pants, wearing a straw hat and holding a basket, picking the red tomatoes in the sunshine with a similarly dressed Spain. Both of you sweat so much. Big brother Spain was smiling while you were frowning. I was sitting under a tree with Nonno painting pictures of you and him together. At that time I thought you were genuinely angry.

But it might be those moments that lit up your life. It might just be that you don't show.

I remember you hating Germany and Prussia and Holy Roman Empire. You called them the potato bastards and you refused to let me go near them, despite the fact that they are harmless. You refused the food from them in times of famine. At that time I really didn't like it.

But now as I think about it, I don't hate it at all. It might just be your attempt to protect Italian culture.

I remember you asking me if I would ever praise you. And when I backed away, you grew really angry. I am really sorry for not saying 'yes'. You grew so angry that you busted the roof. I didn't know that it would hurt you so much.

As much as I don't want to admit it, I really did not think much about you at all. The most distinctive things I remember about you were your potty mouth, your frown, your curl, your loud voice and your smell of tomatoes. And then now...

I remember you were lonely. When our birthdays came, you stood in a corner, and watched me as the other Nations crowded around me. When the rain came, while I sought cover under Germany's umbrella, you waved at me to go first, while you stood in the rain alone and waited. When Austria and Hungary came over, you stood aside, and squeezed your shirt with your tiny little fists. I did not realize till now, while I stand outside the school, that you always walked alone, whether you are young or older. The way you glanced behind your shoulders as I chatted with my friends, particularly Holy Roman Empire. I might have imagined it, or it is the truth: when I think back on your eyes, I caught a glint of sadness.

There were times when you would tell me things. When I was younger, and does not understand why we have to pray, you would always grab my hand and lead me upstairs, and say, " We'll pray together."

When Nonno died, you put a hand on my head and said, " He is with God watching over us."

When I stood on the cliff and waited for Holy Romano Empire, despite you objecting to our closeness, you ran to Mister Austria's house and waited with me.

" I'm waiting with you," You would say loudly and indignantly.

You told me that tomatoes were tasty and Spain is very sunny. You taught me how to fight the British army (well, not exactly). You told me about your dreams. You told me how Turkey almost kidnapped you. You told me so many other things.

I loved this part of you; despite the distance between our houses, you still ran over and talked.

It pains me when I realize that I only realized these when your soul slipped away. I can see your spirit, but not your soul. Where has it gone? Has it flown away to a sunnier place, where the people there will acknowledge your presence?

***~XxXXxX~***

You were always there for as long as I could remember. You were always there, whether you like it or not.

It's only whether people appreciate it.

People never realized you were there, because they took you for granted. Romano who will always be there. I regret to say, but I once thought like that. I could lose myself talking to Germany and Japan, and then I would forget you altogether. When I think back now, I can imagine you solemnly staring at us, a look of longing in your dejected eyes.

I don't know how you felt or what your thoughts were. I think that is why you hate everyone so much. Because they don't spare a second thought for you. Maybe other than big brother Spain, everyone else, including me, can forget about you. I feel bad, my dear brother. I should have spent more time with you.

Maybe you don't know, or don't wish to know...

But I really want you with me.

I really need you with me.

You feel like no one will need you, but...

What about big brother Spain?

What about me?

...

We all need you, dear brother.

***~XxXXxX~***

_Dear brother, when you recover..._

_We'll all go and pick tomatoes._

_I'll teach you how to draw._

_I won't leave you behind again._

_I won't let you walk alone again._

_So brother..._

_Can you,_

_for my sake,_

_for his sake,_

_for everyone's sake..._

_Can you recover soon?_

***~XxXXxX~***

The rain has come. I take my umbrella out and open it. As I walk along the path to home, I see you squatted by the side of the road playing with loose gravel. Your hair was stuck to your face. Your olive skin was wet and shiny with the trails of rain, and your bright green shirt and beige pants are dark and dull from the water. I smile. I walk over to you, and hold out my umbrella to cover you. You look up with dull green eyes, yet innocent, like those of a caged baby animal who wanted to hope. I hold out my hand. You stare at it for a long time, before I bend down some more and grab your hand. I gently pull you to your feet, and I walk you home.


	2. Chapter 2

_You were in a room. The room was cold and gray and empty, and the sunlight that came in through the window did not seem like sunlight at all. It did nothing to warm up the place. Beside the window there is a table. There is a white vase softly gleaming with weak light, in which there were a few stalks of red flowers. They were watching over your still body solemnly, quietly. I twist the cold metal door knob and enter the room. It smells of bleach and medicine. I don't like it. Do you like it? Slowly I walk in with a soft jangle of coins in the pocket. I sit on the chair and wait. I fell asleep._

_When I awoke, you were staring at me with such wide eyes, I was scared._

*~Antonio~*

It's boring.

Facing the window, it's boring.

We used to do it together. It wasn't so boring then.

That window faced the bed on which you slept in. It looked out to the tomato fields and it was the perfect place for the sun to shine in. I positioned it with such care because I just liked people to smile and enjoy life. The sunshine brightens up the day of everyone.

When we looked out of the window, there would be so tomatoes and clouds and the great blue sky. When you were in your normal mood, you'd sit and sulk, but look out of the window all the same. When you were sad, you'd sit on my lap and sob, but you would feel better immediately after watching the sky.

When I was sad, the skies would turn gray, and they would roar with thunder and come alive with lightning. You would come plodding to me on your small feet, then you would shout, Why is the sky so gray today? And then when I see you, I would immediately feel better, and the skies would clear.

There were so many things we could do while staring out of the window. We could make shapes in the clouds, and we could count the tomatoes. We could even talk to the tomatoes. In Spring time, there would be little shoots about the farm, and the air would be cool and crisp and fresh in the gardens. The Earth would be waking, and we would spend time counting the graceful butterflies and the passing birds. When there were bees, you would scream and hide away, and I would laugh and close the window. In Summer time the sunshine will shine on the young plants and their leaves would be so shiny, a healthy green. The sky was a cloudless endless blue on times, and when the thunderstorms raged, it would be dark, and we would observe the fleeting raindrops, shooting into the mud, trailing down the window. The tomato plants would have grown bushy and healthy now, and they must have small green fruits now. During Autumn time, the tomatoes would have turned into healthy red fruits, gleaming softly in the caressing rays of careless sunlight. We would go out with baskets and hats, and then we would pick off the fruit. Some of them we give to the market, the others we keep. During Winter time, when we are lucky, it will snow a little. When we are super lucky, it would snow a lot, and we would make snowmen. When it was cold, we would stay in the house and count the snowflakes. They are so pretty, you would say, and you would reach out a small hand and try catching them. When it was not so cold, we would go out and play, or sow in the tomato seeds in the farm. We would make little holes in the snow and dig with our fingers before putting in the tiny seeds. Then we would bury them all over again. You always threw a tantrum when the seeds didn't fall into the hole. It was amusing and cute. It was fun.

I used to tell you stories. I would seat you on my lap and face the window, and then all sorts of stories would form in my head. I told you all sorts of stories, and you were so fascinated then.

I look out of the window now. The tomatoes that once glowed with joy no longer smiled.

***~XxXXxX~***

I used to go to wars a lot.

I would go to war and kill and kill and kill. My hands are stained with the blood I could not wash, my head haunted by voices that would not die. I would venture out and not return for a very long time. And when I did, I would come back with blood and cuts and bruises, and I would suffer the wrath of your headbutt. But I didn't mind at all. You deserved to have the pleasure of attacking. You've waited so long. So long.

While I was away, you would be alone in the big house. It was lonely, I know. But you waited. You were forever waiting, if only for me to come back for a day and go out the next. I think it pains you, a small child such as yourself, to be left alone in a big house, waiting and waiting and waiting. I wonder if you ever got scared?

While I fought, I thought about you. You were there all the time. Even when I was suffering, my economics failing, you were still there. My beloved child, you were still there. I often imagine your silhouette, a black shadow against a white background softly glowing. Is that your loneliness? Your agony, bearing the silence of the house, the emptiness?

After the war is over, I would be tired. I wouldn't bring myself to smile; I couldn't. I would be bloody and wounded and hurt all over the place. When I went back, you would be all tears and you would attack me. You would complain and swear and curse. You would complain that there wasn't food. You would complain you had to search for an bloody hour to find the bathroom. It was painful, but...

It was all I needed to rouse myself from the exhaustion and smile.

_Because I swore... I would keep smiling, for the sake of a special someone._

_I would keep smiling, so that the sun keeps shining._

_The sun will never set._

_Never._

_But I broke my promise. I've broken it. The Sun has set, the smile gone, my child missing._

***~XxXXxX~***

There was a period of time you started painting. The paintings were beautiful...

_And scary._

They weren't your average paintings. They were morbid, but beautiful. Morbidly beautiful. But they did not portray a specific something. They were a mish-mash of colours, straight lines, trails, spatters, dripping, a careless style, yet one made whole-heartedly. Those paintings weren't your usual style, but I thought nothing of it.

I should have roused you then.

It was all too rushed- All too rushed, that one day you just left a painting alone, and suddenly you were in hospital.

Maybe, maybe when I think back then... While you painted, your eyes, when I look at them from the sides...

_Were they housing pain?_

***~XxXXxX~***

I have always known you to be an honest young man. You never hid anything. Your emotions, they flowed as soon as they were created, and yet I know your words. They usually didn't mean harm, but perhaps of your habit, some people think they do.

Or rather... Are they hiding a pain?

Are they hiding an unspoken anger? Grief? Or, are you completely different altogether?

I used to think I knew you...

But now,

_we are but complete strangers._

***~XxXXxX~***

I am watching a pair of butterflies dancing outside the window. I watched as you sauntered into the garden, your eyes dull, and you squatted. Cautiously you twirled a blade of grass around your finger. I smiled. Maybe it is the chance to be a baby all over again. And...

_Maybe, for me, it is a chance to be a father all over again._


	3. Chapter 3

_Back then, you were so small. But I see your talent behind your clumsiness. We are but a resemblance- the forgotten elder brothers of successful nations. But now as I see you, you are but a shell left behind._

_What happened to the vibrant young man ages ago?_

*~Gilbert~*

In the dark of night the room was sad. The sunlight wasn't sunlight. The clouds weren't clouds. Nothing seemed like themselves.

Proud the cornflower stands, yet his petals sagged in a light sorrow.

A nice cool breeze blows by and the curtains blew out slightly. I could see a light orange melting into a deep blue faded into endless black.

_The day is young._

We used to have sleepovers. Do you remember? The specific time we woke up at to see the sunrise. Your face, I remember clearly, when the sun shone on it, it was a blissful expression, like the free soul you are, running across the green fields.

Now that the past is all I can cling onto, I can barely think straight.

After the sun rose, in our pyjamas we would go down to the fields. There were many pretty flowers there. There were tulips, wild grasses, dandelions and many other beautiful plants. In our hands were baskets, where it would soon be filled with flowers we took to our Grandpas. I still remember Rome from that time- jolly old fellow, he was. I miss Grandpa Fritz. I wonder how he has been doing. Is he up there with the pretty angels, having a beer or two with Old man Rome over a game of chess? Or are they sparring each other with great swords and shields? Maybe having a nice chat with Ol' Germania... Miss that old man too. How they smiled when we brought them those purty little things. I remember Rome taking a daffodil out and chucking it behind your ear, and little Feli would be at the side, drawing happily the adorable scene unfolding. Fritz would sit with Pop and tell me all about the flowers we found. Pop was especially proud if I found a cornflower. I wonder why cornflowers made him so happy. Maybe that was why West chose it as his national flower. What do you think, little buddy?

There are just too many people I miss.

I've so many things to tell you, y'know. Did you know that I found a baby bird? It was a tiny yellow chick, it was very fluffy, and boy was it smart! It could fly and help carry mail. It's awesome, so I named it Gilbird, after the awesome me. Oh oh! I've also saved enough to buy a patch of land. It's not a big patch, but it's enough to have a small plantation. Spain was happy to hear that, he even prepared lots of tomato seeds. France was just talking about planting some rose bushes. Me, I'd take cornflowers. It'd be so fun. You have to join us, maybe help Spain, he likes you around. There would be so many things we can do. It'd be fun. Come back soon.

Seriously.

_Come back soon._

***~XxXXxX~***

The other day I was just walking along this path and I saw this big tree. It was a very tall tree. It's trunk was so big, I couldn't wrap my arms around it, not even half the trunk. It made me feel very sad, but it was beautiful. Winter's on its way here; it was still Autumn. The orange and yellow leaves of the tree looked good on the deep brown trunk. I don't know how, I think of you when I look at that tree. Maybe it's because despite how big the tree is, its leaves still turned yellow. You went away because you couldn't take it anymore, could you? No matter how strong you are, your leaves will wither away.

But I want to believe that, like this tree, after Winter has passed and Spring has come, your leaves will grow back, and you will come back to us. I'd like to see you fuming as you walk. I'd like to hear your complaining. And then when you reach the doorstep, Spain will fling himself onto you, snot and what-not dripping, and then you'd curse and yell and kick and cry. The moment you pry him off you, France will fly towards you, I'd follow, then you'd kick us square in the face. Yes, that would be nice. It doesn't matter if we feel pain.

_We'd just like you back._

***~XxXXxX~***

_Once upon a time_

_A man told a fairy tale to a gravestone_

_He didn't read it from a book _

_He didn't learn it from the man under the grave_

_He was sad when he told the tale_

_Because he knew_

_Unlike the other fairy tales_

_This one wouldn't have a happy ending._

***~XxXXxX~***

While going home today, I walked past your house. I must say you are a good housekeeper. The lawn is well tended to and the garden was quite a sight to see. Did Feliciano help you? If he did, he's a good boy. West helps me all the time. We make the house look grand. Yours looks grand too.

It's a good sunny day today. There was some feed on the bird-thingy, uh, the bird house thingamabob, whutchamacallit- The one where the birds, eat the food you put out for them, that wooden stand, yeah. I saw Feli there holding a bag of somin', but he sure looked sad. I saw him break down. The birds scattered away, and he was there, hands covering his face, crying like... He looked just that helpless, you know? It was painful to watch. I want to pat him, comfort him, but it's making me cry too. He really misses you, Roma. We all miss you.

I left, and as I walked I noticed a little white gate leading into the backyard. It was swinging lightly about its hinges in the breeze. I pressed it shut but it popped open again. I checked for a lock; it was broken. It refused to close. And then I realise, maybe, the little gate might also be waiting for its owner to come home. Forever waiting, waiting, with its gate open, singing, swinging in the breeze till you come.

_See_

_There are more than people who are attached to you_

_The little white gate_

_It's still waiting_

_Can't you hear it crying?_

_..._

_Won't you go back to it?_


End file.
